Tenderfoot
by Roadstergal
Summary: An arc of fics centering on Lift Ticket and Lifeline. TVverse, not comicverse.
1. Chapter 1

The transport bus came to a rumbling halt, jerking Victor awake from his half-snooze. "End of the line!" the driver sang from the front. "If this isn't your destination, fellah, better get out and wait for the one coming the other way!" 

Victor shook himself awake, stood and pulled his duffel from the over-seat rack, and stepped out, nodding his thanks to the driver. Only one facility of any size faced him, and he assumed that it must be the building that he would be living in for the foreseeable future. It was appropriately large and imposing. White concrete walls inset with small, lead-reinforced windows shot skywards, but the building was so wide that despite its height, it still appeared to hunker on the stretch of asphalt around it. People walked purposefully around the grounds, disappearing into one door or another, or around the side of the massive complex. A fence topped with concertina wire, one that hummed with electricity, made a broad ring around it, and two guards, anonymous and almost sexless in identical uniforms, helmets, and sunglasses, stood at attention at a guard shack, clutching assault rifles as if their hands did not feel comfortable without them.

Victor straightened his green dress uniform and walked over, fishing out his ID. "Victor Sikorski," he drawled. He was not sure which one should take the ID, so he compromised and stuck it halfway between both. "I've been transferred to the Joes. Reportin' for duty."

One of them reached out and took it, looked between it and Victor's face searchingly, then disappeared into the shack, as the other guard started levelly at Victor. He tried not to fidget, but had to shift to keep his duffel from sliding off of his arm. Not one "howdy" or "how's the weather" came from the implacable guard. Victor fought off nervousness; he had heard a thing or two about elite units in general, and was not looking forward to whatever kind of hazing they might have in mind. As he waited and was started at, he began, for the umpteenth time, to question his decision. He was not looking to become Head Honcho of Suicidally Reckless Squadron #57. He just wanted to pick up a few more skills to bring to civilian life once his stint was up, and had been assured that this was the way to go. Did he really trust his assurers, though? They were mostly his fellow enlistees, and a lot of them _did_ want to be Head Honcho of Suicidally Reckless Squadron #57.

After a small eternity, the first guard re-emerged from the shack. "Officer of the Day will come get you," the guard grated, and joined the other guard in staring levelly and silently at Victor.

It was a slightly longer eternity, one in which Victor's two overtures of friendliness were utterly ignored, before a figure emerged from what looked like a main pair of doors in the building and strode towards the shack with ground-eating strides. The figure was broad-shouldered, and was wearing a black-and-green camouflage-pattern outfit that did not look terribly much like an actual army uniform; his face was covered with a green stocking mask that looked more appropriate to a corner-store robbery than a military base. But his manner was authoritarian, as was his voice. "What is this crap?" he bellowed, clearly audible from halfway across the compound. "New recruit? Tenderfoot? You just goin' to stand there, boy?" He had reached the shack at that point, and stepped over the striped barrier, grabbing Victor's ID from the guard who held it out to him.

"I was waiting for orders. You're the Officer of the Day?" Victor snapped a belated salute.

"That's right. Sergeant Sneeden, Beachhead to you. Come with me." He turned and jumped the barricade, then headed towards the main building with those ground-eating strides of his. Victor hurried to catch up. "Flight Warrant Officer?" Beachhead threw the door wide, leaving Victor to catch it and follow him in. He tossed Victor's ID over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir," Victor replied, catching the ID and extending his stride to keep up with the Beachhead. Despite his brusque manner, Victor was warming to him. Perhaps it was his accent; while more Southern than Midwestern, it reminded Victor of home. "I'm primarily a chopper pilot, but I can get anything in that air that's supposed to fly - and a thing or two that ain't."

"Good," Beachhead replied. "You'll be flyin' one of our transport choppers. Sometimes to place Joes, but mostly to head in with Lifeline and pick up anybody who's not doin' so well afterwards. He's our medic. He's also a pacifist, so if you like slow suicide, this is a good assignment."

That was one of the sillier things Victor had heard in an organization that had some highly silly cherished institutions. "A what?"

"You heard me," Beachhead replied, grabbing a clipboard from a wall bracket without breaking stride and flipping through it. "He'll carry on, carry over, carry coals, Mariah Carey and Drew Carey, but he won't carry a gun." Beachhead found what he was looking for in the clipboard, and flipped the pages back in place. "He's also off-duty. Let's see if we can find him."

Victor followed hard on his heels, wondering, yet again, just what he had gotten himself into.


	2. The middle

Beachhead led Victor through a warren of corridors until Victor felt utterly lost. He had always prided himself on his sense of direction and ability to form a cognitive map based on minimal landmarks, but the corridors in this place were relentlessly identical, punctuated with indistinguishable, unlabeled doors at regular intervals. They twisted and turned, tromping onwards, until Beachhead abruptly stopped outside of one of those. "Rec-room," he barked, before opening the door and striding in. Victor followed, closing the door behind him. 

The atmosphere inside was notably more relaxed than he had seen anywhere else on the base. People in civilian clothes sat around a few scattered tables, some playing cards, some chatting, one or two reading. His eyes were drawn towards the greatest amount of motion in the room, which came from a ping-pong table that sat roughly in the middle. A slender, dark-haired man was playing against a bald black man with muscles that would draw double-takes in a heavyweight boxing match. His meaty hand swallowed the paddle; Victor could only tell that one was in there somewhere by the hollow _clok-clok_ of the ball hitting it.

"Lifeline!" Beachhead bellowed. The slender man snapped around, startled, then glanced back irately at his burly opponent as the ping-pong ball hit him in the side of the head. Said opponent spread his hands in mock apology, grinning.

The slender man turned back, pushing a pair of green-tinted wire-frame glasses up his nose. "What is it?"

Beachhead grabbed Victor's shoulder and pushed, sending him stumbling forward. "Show Mister Warrant Officer to his quarters. I got better things to do than baby-sit newbies!" Beachhead spun on his toe and stalked out of the room.

"All the better for you," Lifeline's opponent said in a voice that was far more articulate than his frame would lead one to guess. "That just spared you an ass-wuppin'."

"We're tied," Lifeline replied, putting his paddle down on the table. He walked over and offered his hand to Victor. "Ed Steen..." he began, as Victor shook it.

"Sergeant Edwin Steen, _suh_!" his opponent said, chuckling and snapping a mock salute. He walked over, as well, enveloped Victor's hand in his own, and introduced himself - "Roadblock." He then meandered over to join a game in process.

"Beachhead... Lifeline... Roadblock," Victor said, thoughtfully, as they walked along yet another featureless corridor that looked exactly like every featureless corridor he had been in that day. "What are my chances of just keeping my own name?"

"Slim to none," Lifeline replied, grinning. "It's not just a macho oddity, however. We do benefit from a certain degree of anonymity."

Victor had the sense that it was just the way the man talked, but he could not help feeling chilly towards Lifeline for it. Precise speech always made him feel that he was being reprimanded for the way he talked, even if he rationally knew that was not the case. In an effort to not appear chilly himself because of it, he cast about for a halfway genial subject of conversation. "How do ya find your way around? I haven't seen so much as a sign or placard since I got in here."

Lifeline shrugged. "Things are not well-marked around here, at all. You just need to look for very subtle landmarks. We're talking," he pointed down at a hairline crack where the wall met the floor, in front of them, "stuff on the level of that crack, there. That's about all you get. You get used to it, though. Flint says it helps to acclimate us to nuance."

"In so many words?"

"No," Lifeline replied, jamming his hands in his pockets. "I believe he said, 'It makes ya look for the little things.'"

Victor chuckled. He came to a stop as Lifeline halted, opening one of the many featureless doors. "These will be your quarters."

Victor walked in. It was Spartan, certainly, but much roomier than his old quarters. "Who do I share with?" he asked, dropping his duffel on the spare bed that stood against one wall.

"Nobody," Lifeline replied. "One of the bennies here. A little privacy." He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, and Victor realized that said privacy would not be coming for a few minutes at least. He sat down on his cot, pointedly sitting at attention with his hands on his legs.

"So... you're a warrant officer? Chopper pilot? That's going to be terribly useful. We don't get a lot of folk with both the skill and the ability to drop right into the middle of something ferocious to do what needs to be done. One or the other, sure, but both - you're quite a catch, from what I'm hearing." Victor crossed his arms and did not reply. Lifeline hurried to the next thought on his mind. "Er... as far as just hanging around off-duty, this," he indicated his T-shirt and jeans, "is just fine. When on-duty, they want you in a uniform. But it doesn't have to be army. In fact, they rather like uniforms that aren't readily identifiable as belonging to one division of the service or another. Builds unity, I think." A nervous smile came to Lifeline's face, then departed swiftly. "Well, just whatever you find comfortable, really."

"Thank you, sir," Victor replied, still sitting stiffly. "Anything else? I've had a long day - I'd like to take a shower."

"Ah, no, that's all for now. Showers are at the other end," Lifeline pointed a finger vaguely. He continued to talk as he backed out of the room. "Great to have you aboard! The boys will all be happy to have a twenty-four-hour lift ticket..."

"Brawk... Lift Ticket!" The unmistakable squawk of a parrot drifted through the door just before Lifeline closed it. Victor put his head in his hands and rubbed his forehead. What _had _he gotten himself into?


	3. Endings

Victor decided to give that comment Lifeline had made about uniforms a go. He pulled out his lucky multi-pocketed vest, the one he had worn when he got his pilot's license, and tossed it on over his favorite, well-worn, broken-to-optimal-softness green fatigues. A glance in the mirror showed that he looked decidedly unprofessional, but felt utterly comfortable. He snapped his wallet into one of the pockets, then headed to breakfast. 

He made a mental note to get up earlier in the future; the mess hall was fairly full. Equipped with a tray of something that might have been eggs at some point in the past, and coffee that looked thick enough to stand his spoon up in, he looked for a clear seat. Lifeline caught his eye and lifted a finger in greeting; a brawny man in a navy outfit (complete with a green macaw on his shoulder) and a fiery-haired woman sat at the same table, but one seat remained free. Victor walked to that free seat, giving a nod and a "Ma'am" to the woman. She was engrossed in a newspaper, and muttered something distractedly in response.

The man shook hands with Victor, revealing an anchor tattoo on his forearm. "Name's Shipwreck. You?"

Before more than a "V" had escaped Victor's lips, the macaw cried, "Lift-Ticket!" It then preened its wing with a self-satisfied air.

"Well, I guess I've been dubbed," Victor sighed, resigned. He recognized that squawk from the previous night; the bird had an uncanny memory.

"What's goin' on in the world today, Scarlett?" asked Shipwreck, breaking his toast into pieces and feeding a chunk to the macaw.

The woman frowned at the paper. "Is 'Concrete' a place?"

Lifeline nodded. "Well, there's one Concrete that's a few hours' drive north of Seattle..."

Scarlett looked up. "Oh, I feel better. The headline said, 'Concrete man downs,' and I was wondering what was surprising enough about that to warrant an article."

Shipwreck chuckled. "What's the punishment for drowning a concrete man?"

"This breakfast," Lifeline replied, pushing the tray away slightly with distaste.

Victor shrugged as he chewed on a mouthful of egg. From powder, definitely, but not badly rehydrated. "I've had worse - far worse."

Lifeline looked over and raised his eyebrows. "And you're here to tell the tale? I'm impressed."

"Bitch, bitch, whine," Shipwreck replied, digging into his breakfast with gusto. Scarlett turned another page just as Beachhead's masked face bent over her shoulder.

"If y'all are done with yer kibitz," he growled, "get suited up and get to the launch pad. We have a flight to escort. Shipwreck and Scarlett in Skystrikers, Lift-Ticket and Lifeline in a Tomahawk."

"May we ask what we're escorting?" Scarlett asked sweetly, folding her newspaper neatly.

"You may," Beachhead replied, and strode off.

"Kibitz?" Shipwreck asked, as he stood and collected his trays.

"I'm proud of him," Scarlett replied. "I thought the only Yiddish he knew was 'schmuck.'"

------

Victor was rather pleased that Lifeline knew to strap in and shut up while he was starting up and taking off. He had trained on a number of different kinds of helicopters, but the Tomahawk was a different animal from anything he had flown before. For such a big chopper, it was hair-trigger responsive; it was definitely going to be a steep learning curve. It had scads of power, enough to leave your viscera back at your starting point if you goosed it a bit. He was going to fall in love, he knew it, but it was a machine that demanded respect from the operator first and foremost.

As soon as they were streaking in a fairly straight line over the water, Lifeline stirred. "You _are _good," he said, smiling.

"After all this time, I'd better be," Victor replied. "What're you on this trip for, moral support?"

"No, I'm here in case you run into any unfriendlies."

Victor snorted. "What're you goin' to do - talk them into being more friendly?"

Lifeline looked out over the blue water that was streaking away underneath them. "You never know."

The radio crackled to life. "Bogies ahead!" Scarlett's voice barked. "Look sharp!"

Victor peered into the cloudbank, and noted a trio of black specks diving down out of it. "Got 'em," he said, then held his course steady as Shipwreck and Scarlett peeled away. The specks resolved into sleek black jets, closing in with alarming rapidity. Victor waited until he saw tracer fire, then dove, hard. He leveled out and turned, marveling as the Tomahawk pivoted on a ten-cent piece. The Tomahawk's guns took out the tailpiece of the center jet, and the pilot ejected as the fighter disintegrated in a ball of flame. Victor looked from left to right, but Scarlett and Shipwreck had taken out the other two.

"Right, you two go on ahead," Lifeline radioed. "We'll take care of these fellows."

"Yo Joe," Shipwreck bellowed, his voice crackling with feedback. "Yahooo!"

Victor whipped his head around. "We're going to _what_?" Surely he had misheard. Surely this loony was not suggesting they were going to pick up the pilots who had just tried to shoot them down. But Lifeline had unstrapped himself and was heading for the back. "Hey, _hey_!" Victor yelled.

"You can see where they're floating," Lifeline called forward. "Bring me down a little closer!"

Victor sighed, resigned, and took the chopper close enough to the water for Lifeline to fish out three very sodden and shivering pilots. Two of them resignedly accepted a ziptie around the wrists and a blanket around the shoulders. The third thrashed around, groaning.

"What's with him?" Victor asked, trying to split his attention between flying and keeping an eye on the nutballs in the back. Including the nutball medic who was responsible for bringing the other three aboard. Victor glanced back just in time to see Lifeline snap a compound fracture in the third pilot's leg back into place. He swallowed his breakfast back down again.

"That," Lifeline replied, starting to bandage the leg. He strapped the three in, then walked to the cockpit. "Let's head back to base. Scarlett and Shipwreck can take care of the escort; these fellows need attention."

Victor sighed. It was not that he was raring to go out and get shot at, but he did not like the idea of sending two compatriots out to get shot at without him. Especially if it was for the benefit of the fellows who had just been shooting at him. He reluctantly set his course back for the base, shooting sidelong glances at Lifeline. The man just sat there, calmly. "I don't get it," Victor growled.

Lifeline shrugged. "We have to give them something better."

Victor raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Look at it from where they are. We both have a stirring chant, a nifty flag, and the latest death-dealing gizmos - and they pay better..."

"It's _way_ more complex than that."

"Of course, but these kids like it simple. And being rescued and healed by the other side when your side has abandoned you is pretty simple." Lifeline glanced back at the dripping cargo in the back again.

Kids? Victor would eat his helmet if Lifeline was over 30. He shrugged. "Whatever you say, Sergeant."

"Oh, don't give me that." Lifeline shook his head. "The end is important in all things." The last had the singsong quality of a quotation, but Victor did not recognize it.

The Tomahawk sped back towards the base, a dubious pilot at the controls.


	4. Examination

Lifeline secured the bandage with its two hooks, then patted the foot it was wrapped around as he lowered it to the ground. The owner of the foot looked up at him with wide-eyed sincerity as he straightened. "Right, corporal" he said, smiling genially, "I want you to stay off of that foot for a while. Take ibuprofen for a few days to keep the swelling down, ice it and keep it compressed, and above all, go easy on it! You'll be prone to re-sprain for up to six months." 

The woman nodded, vigorously. "Thanks, doc! I'll do just like you said." She pulled on a jacket with corporal's bars on the arm, took the crutches he handed her, and hobbled out, awkwardly. One crutch caught on the door lintel, and she went sprawling into the arms of Lift Ticket. He caught her by the arms and set her gently on her good foot. "Thanks," she said, flushing beet-red, and bid a hasty and noisy retreat down the corridor.

Lift Ticket walked all of the way into the small examination room. "See a lot of that?" he asked.

Lifeline nodded as he tore the paper cover off of the table and stuffed it in a can in the corner. "Our Lady Of Perpetual Stress Injury. She's in good company, though. It's an epidemic among the Joes - they like to suffer in silence rather than actually let an injury heal. It's all very noble and heroic, but a pack of noble, heroic, hobbling Joes is not terribly useful." Lifeline gave Lift Ticket a look that he tried to stuff _Don't pick that up from the rest, please_ into.

Lift Ticket's face remained as impassive as Lifeline had always seen it. He walked in and waited, his arms folded in front of him, as Lifeline threw another cover on the table. "I'm here for my physical."

Lifeline sighed internally. Lift Ticket had barely spoken to him since he arrived on base, and was always just a little bit too formal when he did. Not everyone warmed to Lifeline, he knew, but it grated on him - and on top of that, Beachhead seemed to wanted to assign him to Lift Ticket on a fairly permanent basis. "Strip, sit on the table." Lifeline locked the door as Lift Ticket complied, pulling off his jacket and shirt to reveal a deeply muscled torso. He was not as aggressively mesomorphic as someone like Slaughter or Roadblock, but he had an air of solidity about him, as if anyone who tried to take him down would just bounce off. He stripped to his boxers and sat on the table, staring resolutely ahead. "You should have come in right after you arrived," Lifeline noted, pulling out a fresh form.

"I'm a good Oklahoma boy," Lift Ticket replied, seriously. "You can't expect to just get me outta my pants on the first date."

Lifeline raised an eyebrow. He started to re-analyze the man's coolness in a new light. Maybe he just took 'deadpan' to an art form. "Don't flatter yourself," he replied, airily. "I've seen more privates than you ever will."

"And corporals, and lieutenants..." Lift Ticket finished. Lifeline grinned.

The man was, unsurprisingly, in robust health. His heartbeat was strong and regular, and his pulse and blood pressure were satisfyingly low. His reflexes were spot-on, and his hearing and eyesight were enviable. "Wouldn't be much of a pilot if they weren't," he replied when Lifeline commented on the latter. His feet were free of fungus, although the way he bit his lip as they were checked indicated that his feet were ticklish. Lifeline found that amusing, but made his grip firmer to ease the tickle.

Lift Ticket shifted as Lifeline pulled out a needle and collection tube. "Can I ask ya a personal question?"

"You can ask," Lifeline replied, feeling an odd nervousness. "I reserve the right not to answer." He tied a rubber strap around Lift Ticket's forearm, and prodded the blue vein to swelling life.

Lift Ticket looked towards the door as Lifeline swabbed his arm and slid the needle in. "Whatinhell is a pacifist doing in a place like this?"

"Are you asking why I'm here, or why they let me in?" Lifeline asked, keeping his voice steady.

"I can see why they let ya in. Everyone I've talked to says you do good work, pullin' your share and then some. But why are you hangin' around with big bad boys and gals with guns and all?" He looked directly at Lifeline as he removed the collection tube and pulled out the needle.

"Well," Lifeline said, feeling an odd swell of pride at the indirect compliment, "this is where I can do the most good. Do I wish it didn't have to exist? Yes, but while it does, I'm not going to stick my head in the sand."

"So what happens if some mean fella attacks ya? Ya just stand there and take it?" Lift Ticket sounded almost offended as he pulled his clothes back on.

"I only turn the other cheek if I think it will do some good," Lifeline replied. "If not - I've studied disciplines that turn attacks back on themselves. But I won't shoot a man, no."

"Martial arts, and all?" Lift Ticket shrugged. "Not my thing. They work?"

"Well enough."

Unexpectedly, Lift Ticket grinned. "Why don't ya show me at the next exercise period? I promise I'll go easy on ya."

Lifeline signed the physical form and put it in the box to file. "I'd feel much better if you didn't. I've never come across a Cobra who said, 'Hey, you seem like a nice fellow - I'll pull my punches.'"

"Ain't got no manners, then," Lift Ticket replied, tying his boots and heading out of the room. He raised his hand in farewell. "See ya then."

Lifeline whistled quietly as he cleaned up. Perhaps running missions with the man would not be so bad, after all.


	5. Exercise

A/N: This occurs right before the scene in Arise, Serpentor, Arise when Lift Ticket is seen fixing a Tomahawk.

------

Victor stood, arms and legs slightly spread, panting. It was a cool day to be out in just a T-shirt and loose pants, but he was nonetheless sweating from exertion - the exertion of failing to lay a finger on the similarly attired man who stood warily a pace and change away. _At least he's sweating, too_, Victor noted, wryly. No wonder Lifeline had been so amenable to an exercise session. Victor had figured he'd be able to toss the man around like a doll once he got a hand on him, but Lifeline stubbornly refused to let Victor get that hand on him. It was intensely frustrating.

Victor feinted to the left, then the right, then straight ahead, reaching. His hands met nothing, and his momentum sent him sprawling face-first into the ground - with a little help from a foot placed in his way. Devious bastard, Victor thought as he rose to his knees, spitting dirt; he had not punched, kicked, or so much as slapped Victor on the cheek, but positioned himself in such a way as to make Victor's own momentum do the dirty work. Victor had been led into beating himself up for what could not have been under half an hour, and his patience, which he considered glacial in the normal course of things, was on its way to snapping.

"Are you all right?" Lifeline asked, the lithe man radiating a genuine concern that scraped over Victor's nerves like sandpaper.

"Look out fer yourself!" Victor barked, getting resolutely to his feet. He feinted forward for two steps, and Lifeline danced slightly to the side, but Victor scampered towards that side. Lifeline danced back. Victor growled. He wanted to fight, not tango! He dug his feet into the ground, then launched himself in what, some part of himself assured him with resignation, would be another failed attempt at a tackle.

"Boys!" a voice called out from the side. Victor, intent on his tackle, did not stop - but Lifeline glanced in the direction of the voice, and did not look back in time to dodge almost two hundred pounds of irate Warrant Officer. Victor's shoulder slammed into Lifeline's torso just below his ribcage, hard enough to make Victor's shoulder twinge and to send both of them flying. Victor landed half-on Lifeline, and the medic made a pained wheeze.

"Hey, now!" the distracting voice called out. "We need that one!"

Victor got to his feet. Lifeline didn't; he doubled over, gasping. "Are you all right?" Victor asked, then cringed at the question. Not likely.

"Just..." Lifeline wheezed, "knocked my wind out..." He huffed, regaining his breath.

Victor glanced over at the footsteps that must belong to the owner of the distracting voice. She was just as distracting; limber, pretty, with short, dark hair. "Ah, that's what he gets for not paying attention!" she said, shaking her head. She looked up at Victor. "I came over here to grab you two. Flint wants to see you. I'm assuming you're Lift Ticket?" She stuck out her hand. "Lady Jaye."

Victor shook it with resignation. He stood not a chance of keeping his own name, he could see. "Charmed."

"Report to his office as soon as that one can walk." She flipped a salute at the still-gasping Lifeline, then sauntered off with a walk that was as distracting as her initial appearance had been.

Lifeline stuck his hand up, and Victor took it, helping the man to his feet. "Sorry..." Victor said.

"It's all right," Lifeline said, drawing a deep breath with relief. "I should have been watching you." He glanced at Lady Jaye's retreating back. "Did she say something?"

"She said Flint wanted to see us," Victor replied, rubbing his aching shoulder.

"Right." Lifeline started walking towards the complex, and Victor fell in with him. "I should mention," Lifeline continued, more quietly, "that Lady Jaye and Flint... er... well, they're not an item, as that would be against regulations and all, but if it weren't... you know... they would be an item... I think."

Victor guffawed. "Ed," he drawled, "I think yer blushin'."

------

Victor was beginning to get a sense of the base's layout, but was glad someone else was with him to make sure he got to Flint's office in a reasonable amount of time. The man was sitting at a desk and shuffling through paperwork with the air of someone who despises paperwork. He looked up as Victor and Lifeline walked in and saluted. He stood. "Lift Ticket!" he barked. "You don't come back from a mission without servicing your vehicle - right away! Before eating, before sleeping, before playing in the dirt!" He glowered at Lifeline. "And _you_ should remind him of that fact! Now get to it, both of you. When I send you out on a mission, I expect your machinery to be ready! Understood?" He barely waited for the two-part harmony of "Yes, sir" before barking "Dismissed!" and sitting back down at his desk.

"Oops," Victor muttered, as they walked down the hall. Lifeline shrugged.

"He just hates paperwork. He's not happy unless he's in the field. He's not mean or capricious, just strict."

"Lifeline," Victor sighed, wiping his forehead with his arm, "if you don't use shorter words, I'm gonna slap you."

"If you can catch me," Lifeline replied, with a grin that was just a little too evil.


	6. Spy Games, part 1

A/N: Many thanks to those who have commented. I enjoy writing the stories, but it's always good to know that someone else enjoys them, as well. I haven't seen the show in ages, so if I make any errors, feel free to tell me. This section takes place right after the events of Arise, Serpentor, Arise.

------

Espionage had seemed a very suave and romantic thing to Lifeline back when he was younger, when he was just Eddie and had snuck Ian Fleming novels into his room to read under the covers at night with a flashlight. Some time actually doing the work in question had quickly taught him that it was dull for the most part, and frequently cold and uncomfortable on top of that. The current mission looked to be one of the latter, he thought ruefully. A chilly drizzle misted the air as the small group of Joes trudged through shin-high grass, their faces whipped by small branches that snapped back after the Joe in front brushed them aside. That meant that Beachhead, who lead, was in the best mood of anyone else in the group (not that it was all that terrific a mood, at that). Behind him, Roadblock and Mainframe jostled each other and grumbled; behind Lifeline, Lift Ticket tromped in sullen silence.

Lift Ticket's quiet seemed more irate than his usual reticence. Lifeline slowed down slightly and fell in beside him. "Hey," he muttered quietly in the man's ear. "What's wrong?"

"This ain't my idea of a fun getaway," Lift Ticket snarled back under his breath.

"No, the weather isn't lovely. What's wrong?" Lifeline whispered, stubbornly.

Lift Ticket sighed, casting a glance at the Joes ahead. "What am I doin' here? Give y'all a ride in, tromp along behind, give y'all a ride back. Feckin' useless. You could get a first-year pilot to do the same."

"Hey, now," Lifeline muttered, "you're here _in case_ we need you. The best mission of all is the one in which I'm utterly unneeded, you know..."

Beachhead came to an abrupt halt, and the rest of the troop stumbled to a surprised stop behind him. "Look, ladies," he growled, "this is a spy mission we're on here, yeah? We spy a lot better when the bad guys can't hear us, ya know. So would y'all please _shut up_?" He turned around and marched resolutely onwards.

"Thanks, dad, I feel much better," Lift Ticket muttered to Lifeline as they marched on. Lifeline sighed and gave up, for the moment.

About ten minutes later, Beachhead responded to a landmark only he could see, and raised his hand. The rest of the group gathered close. "Right," he said. "This," he tapped his foot on something buried in the grass that made a muffled metallic clang, "is the drain that Mainframe and I are gonna take into the HQ. I'm makin' an executive decision. The two of us can take it from here; I want the rest of ya to do a little reconnaissance. We don't know squat about the eastern half of this little paradise, and this is as good a time for a looksee as any. Stay low, don't get seen, don't get caught, don't use the radio unless it's an emergency. And by 'emergency' I mean 'yer already dead,' right?"

A muffled chorus of agreement made him nod. "Right. Roadblock, help me with this..."

Roadblock tapped him aside, reached down, and lifted a manhole-sized grating out of the ground with a grunt. Water sprayed up and splattered the group. Lifeline took off his glasses and wiped them. Once they were back on, he saw that Mainframe was already in the drain, and Beachhead was halfway down. "Drop that over me; let's cover our tracks," he told Roadblock. "See ya back at the Tomahawk in two hours." Roadblock obliged, and Beachhead ducked into the ground just in time to prevent getting hit over the head with the grating.

"Feeling a little more useful?" Lifeline asked Lift Ticket quietly as they moved eastwards, slogging through the damp vegetation. Lift Ticket gave him a dirty look.

Lifeline's mind began to wander as they trudged, thinking about the journal article he had not quite finished when Beachhead had roused him, thinking about the Cobra base and what their garish new leader might be up to, thinking about dry socks. He was brought up abruptly when Roadblock grabbed his arm and fell. Lifeline fell along with him. "Whut?" Lift Ticket asked, bemused, and Lifeline turned to see that the man was still standing. Lifeline grabbed his leg and twisted, and Lift Ticket fell to the ground with a wet splat. "Bast..." Lifeline covered Lift Ticket's mouth to squash the rest of the expletive.

"Hush your mouth or we're goin' south!" Roadblock hissed. "Cobras out there - better beware!"

Lifeline and Lift Ticket scrambled up to where Roadblock lay. They parted the grasses. The group was on a small hillock overlooking an equally small valley - more like a good-sized depression - with a largish river cutting through it. Three Dreadnoks puttered around in the valley next to a beached armored craft.

"A little far afield, aren't they?" Lifeline whispered. The Joes hadn't landed much farther out than this. The thought that they might have landed in the middle of a pack of Cobra was not a heartening one.

"The satellite said they never ranged far," Roadblock whispered. "But you can't deny that here they are!"

"Are we just goin' to stand here and recite poetry at 'em?" Lift Ticket snarled. "They're not payin' attention. We could take 'em."

That struck Lifeline as a rather bad idea. "This is a reconnaissance mission! If they raise an alarm, we might compromise Beachhead and Mainframe's mission."

"Not if we don't give 'em time to raise anything," Lift Ticket said with an evil grin. Lifeline's heart sank; he had a feeling he was about to be outvoted. Sure enough, Roadblock's grin mirrored Lift Ticket's.

"I like the way this boy thinks," Roadblock said. "Besides, how can we reconnaissance with _them_ in the way?"

"We could always walk _around_," Lifeline sighed, with resignation.

"Nah, I'd rather play through. Tip 'em in the drink before they get time to think. They'll know a little somethin' about what's goin on, so let's grab 'em before they're gone!"

"Lifeline can distract them, and we'll jump them from behind," Lift Ticket replied.

Lifeline twisted to face him, irate. "Find your own distraction! I'm not going to be a part of this!"

Roadblock sighed. "Look, little bud, we're goin' to do this with or without you. With, and there's a better chance for our friends inside..."

"No," Lifeline said, firmly, and started to shimmy back.

Roadblock sighed. "Like it or not, we need a distraction to get some of that action..." A meaty hand descended on Lifeline's collar, and he suddenly found himself tumbling down the slope. The slick grass gave him no purchase, and his tumbling slide did not stop until he hit something with his side. It was, he noted, a steel-toed leather boot.

"Oi! Look whut the cat drug in!" the bearded owner of the boot yelled, grabbing for Lifeline's collar. Lifeline rolled to the side, and his slick, wet uniform slid out of the man's paw-like grasp. He staggered to his feet as the man growled and made a lunge for him. He dropped to the side, letting the man fall to his face.

"It's _dragged_, yeh idiot!" a more high-pitched voice screeched. It added, surprised, "Wait! What's that!"

"It's _dead_, is what it is!" the first man yelled, spitting out a mouthful of grass as he scrambled to his feet. Lifeline looked nervously from him to the other two Dreadnoks, who were closing in from behind.

With a pounding of wet footsteps and a whispered "Yo Joe!" the two behind him went down with a pair of muffled splats. Roadblock and Lift Ticket got off of the top of the two downed Dreadnoks and lunged for the third man, who stumbled backwards, his eyebrows rising in surprise from behind a badly scratched pair of aviator sunglasses.

"Eyyah! Joes!" he screeched. He stumbled backwards. "Get them!" he yelled over his shoulder, just before Roadblock dealt a swift punch to the jaw. His mouth closed with a click, and he fell to the ground.

"Feeling _useful_?" Lifeline asked Lift Ticket, irate, as he brushed greenery off of his uniform. He breathed deeply, trying to not appear as livid as he felt. Endangering their entire mission just so those two could 'play' with their fists!

"Oh, heck, yeah," Lift Ticket said, grinning like an idiot. "Now we..."

He trailed off as the bushes into which the man had yelled began to rustle. The three of them backed slowly away as the rustling increased. The bushes suddenly parted, revealing three BATs, weapons upraised.

"Just our stinkin' luck," Roadblock muttered. "Pardon my French if I have to say..." He was interrupted as the Joes flung themselves out of the way of the blasts from the BAT's weapons, which made smoking holes in the greenery.


	7. Spy Games, part 2

Lifeline rolled and looked up. Two more BATs had emerged from the bushes to join the three that had already stepped out. Lift Ticket and Roadblock had also escaped injury; the former had pulled his sidearm and was starting to shoot at the BATs, while the latter ran _towards_ them. Lifeline bit his lip at the sight of Roadblock charging into the guns of the BATs, but the action seemed to startle them - or, as Lifeline chided himself for anthropomorphizing, the action did not seem to be one they were programmed to handle. Roadblock knocked two of their heads together, and they spat sparks, stumbling; he took advantage of that to start to pull them apart. Lift Ticket, meanwhile, had hit a third several times in the chest panel, and it staggered. 

A fourth headed for Lifeline. He noted that one of the Dreadnoks, the one with the screeching voice, was getting to his feet, shaking his head as if dazed. Lifeline ducked and swerved to avoid the BAT's shots, and weaved his way over to the bank of the river to put the Dreadnok between himself and the BAT. The BAT attempted to climb over the Dreadnok, and the man took offense. "Oi!" he yelped. "Yeh silicone twit!" He grabbed the BAT and threw it to the ground. He then picked it up and threw it - directly at him, Lifeline realized belatedly. He dove, but a metal fist caught his boot, the robot's momentum carrying them both into the river.

The water was _cold_, and Lifeline resisted the urge to gasp as he plunged in. The BAT was heavy, and they both sank far too swiftly as Lifeline tried to kick himself away from the BAT. The water did the damaged android no good, and it fizzled and sparked for a moment before falling dead. But its grip on Lifeline's boot did not slacken, and they both hit the river bottom with a soft thud.

Lifeline had not been prepared to go under, and his lungs were demanding air. He pulled out his knife and cut his boot, yanking and tugging at it until he managed to get it, and the artificial hand holding it, to scrape off of his foot. He quickly kicked off his other boot and cut off his belt and his helmet, then ripped off his jacket, letting it take his backpack with it. Lightened, he swam towards what he hoped was the surface. No, the BAT had carried air in nooks and crannies, and he could follow the bubbles; he straightened out his decidedly sideways aim and headed upwards. He swam, his torso screaming _breathe!_ The surface seemed impossibly far; every stroke was the one he was sure would bring him into air, but the water seemed unending. He gasped in a breath of water involuntarily, choked, hacked in another half-breath, and then, with enormous relief, broke through the surface. Air! He tried to pull it into his lungs, but he had taken in too much water; he grabbed for the nearest solid object, coughing.

A hand grabbed his arm, and he was hauled out of the water to sprawl face-first on metal. A boot kicked his back, and he vomited water with relief, sucking in a few good lungfuls of air. Cognizance returned, and he realized with a sinking feeling in his viscera that no Joe vehicles had metal decking like what he lay upon. He started to stand, but the boot kicked him over onto his back and landed forcefully on his throat. He struggled fruitlessly as Zartan leered down at him. "Well, look what we have _here_," the mercenary purred.

"What is it, sir?" a male voice asked.

Zartan looked at the speaker - a Viper, as he came into Lifeline's field of vision. "It's a Joe, you git," Zartan snarled. He looked back down at Lifeline. "What's your name, boy? How many of you are here?"

Lifeline saw no reason to answer. Zartan frowned.

"Should I shoot him?" the Viper asked, kicking Lifeline.

"I think Cobra Commander will pay more for him _alive_," Zartan replied, looking aggravated. "We don't have time for this. Truss him up. We will take him back after we've placed the laser. And," he raised his voice, "keep your eyes _open_, you lumps. There are bound to be more about. Something tells me the Dreadnok advance squad hasn't done much," he added in a growl.

The Viper handcuffed Lifeline to what looked like an unused weapon mount, frisked him, then stood off to the side, rifle at ready. Lifeline looked around. He was on a small riverboat, but one that was armored; armed, as well, with a few tripod-mounted heavy guns. Zartan was without his Dreadnoks; six Vipers appeared to be the ship's whole complement. Two of them were guarding a thick, squat cylinder with a ball-jointed nozzle set in the top center. _That must be the laser Zartan was talking about,_ Lifeline thought, then shivered as a chill wind blew over him. The remnants of his uniform would not be warm enough for the weather even if they weren't sopping wet; as it was, the metal decking sucked away what heat the wind did not.

It had been too hopeful to expect that the mission would be just plain _boring_, he thought ruefully.

------

Lift Ticket shot the chest panel out of another BAT, and it dropped. He looked around in time to see Roadblock dismantle the second of the two he had taken on. "That'll invalidate the warranty, ya know," Lift Ticket called over, then looked around.

"Where's Lifeline?" Roadblock asked, frowning, as he tossed aside an arm.

"Just what I was wonderin'," Lift Ticket muttered, feeling a sinking sensation. Four destroyed BATs, three groaning Dreadnoks, and no medic.

"Weren't there _five_?" Roadblock asked, rubbing his neck. "I got two, you got two."

"The last one musta taken him," Lift Ticket replied, frowned, and finished, lamely, "somewhere." He jogged quickly around the perimeter of the small depression. "I don't see any footprints. I'd think they'd last some, in this muck."

"I have other ways of trackin'," Roadblock said, then reached down and picked up the head of one of the Dreadnoks by his hair. The man, who had been clutching his back, shivered and groaned. Lift Ticket stepped back and crossed his arms, watching. "You gonna tell me where the main group is?" Roadblock asked, sweetly.

The man looked up at Roadblock groggily. "I dunno," he asked, "are yeh gonna make it worth my while, mate?"

Roadblock stood, still holding the man's hair tightly. The Dreadnok ended up on his feet, then his tiptoes, yelping. "Oi! Ow! Stoppit, mate, stoppit!" he howled.

"I got a _reeeal_ good offer for you," Roadblock said, shaking his finger in the man's face. "I won't scalp you and throw you in the river. How's that?" He shook the man for punctuation, and the Dreadnok danced around on his tiptoes, screeching.

"Righ'! Righ'! Over there!" He pointed, his finger wavering. "On the river, upstream a bit! We was supposeta scout ahead for Zartan. That's all I know, really!"

"Thanks. You've been a help." Roadblock punched the Dreadnok gently in the face, then dropped the newly unconscious man. "You up for puttin' the brakes on a couple of snakes?"

"I'm way aheada ya," Lift Ticket replied. He turned and started to work his way through the trees in the direction the Dreadnok had pointed. Little claws of guilt were starting to scrabble at his insides. If he hadn't been so gung-ho on the idea, would Roadblock have... Lift Ticket clamped down on that line of thought. 'If's in the past never got anyone anywhere. It was done, and they'd deal with things as they stood. Which meant finding Lifeline.

They had not gone far before finding another clearing upriver. They heard activity far before they actually came across it, so they were crawling low in the grass when they emerged from the trees and peeked into the Cobra camp. Four Vipers were escorting a large metal object down the ramp of a beached boat, harangued by Zartan. Curses and directions floated on the air, and the Vipers were looking decidedly sick of hauling what appeared to be a very heavy metal cylinder to the tune of Zartan's gratuitous verbal abuse.

"There's the camp," Roadblock muttered, unnecessarily.

"And there's Lifeline," Lift Ticket replied, noting a figure chained to an unused turret on the boat. "Lessee - you can whistle at Zartan, and I'll sneak up and hit him over the head with my change purse..."

"Stop bein' a smartass. That's my job," Roadblock replied. "You think you can take a few of those?"

"Two or three, yeah. Not six."

"Hang tight, man. I've gotta plan. Wait here." Roadblock shimmied back until he was safely concealed by flora, and then stood and trotted away. Lift Ticket waited, squishing uncomfortably in the wet grass. The Vipers finally brought the lump of metal into a location that seemed to satisfy Zartan; he yelled for them to stop, and then ordered them to dismantle the castors it rested on and remove the bits of rope they had been using to guide it. This went with all of the smooth efficiency that Lift Ticket had seen them use when bringing the thing down off of the boat - very little. One of the castors came off too quickly, causing the metal _thing_ to tip to one side with a splat.

Zartan ran to that side and began to yell at the Viper, speculating on his pedigree. He had not gotten very far, however, before something flew into the clearing, hissing as white gas billowed from it. "Grenade!" one Viper yelled, before he bent over and started coughing.

"Stand your ground!" Zartan yelled, dancing out of the range of the gas. "One of you, guard the laser! The rest with me!" They ran off in the direction the grenade had come from, the one who had gotten a lungful of gas staggering behind.

Lift Ticket took a few deep breaths in case the wind was unkind, and ran towards the boat, crouched over. The guard at the laser was facing the direction the others had run, and paid no attention to him; the guard on the boat had no time to speak before Lift Ticket hit him on the head with the butt of his sidearm. Lift Ticket grabbed the Viper and lowered him to the deck gently to avoid a noisy fall, then scurried over to Lifeline. The medic was slumped against the turret, his head hanging, black hair hiding his face. "Hey, bud," he hissed, but Lifeline did not respond.

Lift Ticket regarded the handcuffs in frustration for a moment. It would be fastest to shoot them off, he fumed, but the guard on the ground would most definitely hear _that_. Fortunately, the Cobras took that moment to start to shoot at something in the woods - not Roadblock, Lift Ticket hoped, as he stepped back and shot the connecting chain off of the handcuffs, the noise nicely covered by the Cobra's guns. He grabbed Lifeline. The man's chest was cool and clammy, but Lift Ticket filed that under Things To Worry About Later, and hoisted the man over his shoulder. He clanged his way down the ramp, all pretense of skulk put aside once he was moving, and shot at the Viper on the ground. He did not even try to aim; he was not shooting to hit, just to get the man _out_ of his way. In that, he succeeded; the Viper dove behind the laser, and Lift Ticket ran back out of the clearing and into the cover of the trees.

Roadblock was waiting for him. "I lead 'em on a merry chase. They're still foolin' around in the other direction. You got him?"

Lift Ticket lowered Lifeline to the ground, the cuffs on his wrists jangling dully. The man had hung off of his shoulder like a sack of wheat for the short rescue dash, and was not showing much more enthusiasm as he lay on the ground. Lift Ticket frowned and put his fingers on the medic's neck. His pulse was steady, but strikingly slow.

"He all right?" Roadblock asked, frowning.

Lift Ticket started to scratch his head. His fingers scraped over his helmet, so he scratched his neck, instead. "Hypothermia - I _think_." He tried to recall his first-aid training. He had spent most of it trying to get a date with the slender blonde girl in his class; he had figured that in any missions, it would be his job to fly, and the medic's job to take care of any health complications. He vaguely remembered something about frostbite, and hadn't there been something about hypothermia afterwards? But no, he had definitely been paying more attention to her chest in that section of the class. What was her name again?

"Well," Roadblock said, after watching what must have been an impressive array of expressions cross Lift Ticket's face, "I happen to know a good medic." He leaned over and tapped Lifeline's cheek, very gently. The man mumbled something. "Hey," Roadblock said. "What do you do for hypothermia?"

"Raise core temp," he mumbled, his eyes closed. "Minimize airway heat loss with artificial respiration. Apologize to victim's spouse when necessary."

Lift Ticket and Roadblock exchanged a look. "We're in the wrong business," Lift Ticket said.

------

Roadblock had knocked out one of the pursuing Vipers; he circled back and grabbed the pilot's jacket. Lift Ticket replaced Lifeline's damp undershirt with it, and by way of compromise, carried the medic with his head in Lift Ticket's neck. They hurried back to the Tomahawk, giving a wide berth to Zartan's clearing. He was bellowing about the loss of his prisoner loudly enough to be heard in the next zip code, Lift Ticket thought derisively.

Lifeline had recovered enough to elbow Lift Ticket in the ribs and demand to be set down by the time they reached the Tomahawk. Beachhead and Mainframe were already there - the latter smug, the former irate. "Where in _hell_ you boys been?" Beachhead hissed, then looked at Lifeline. "Clothes-shoppin'?"

"What, it's not me?" Lifeline asked, shivering slightly.

Beachhead rolled his eyes. "Get in. We gotta leg it. Cobra's got somethin' big goin' on, and we need to get word back to base."

They all boarded the craft. "What've the snakes got that makes you all hot?" Roadblock asked as he started to strap in.

"A computer-controlled network of lasers!" Mainframe said excitedly, leaning on Roadblock's seat and speaking over Beachhead. "They'll be set at strategic points along the globe, and Cobra will be able to shoot down any satellite from any orbit. If their computers weren't such crap," he sniffed, "they'd be able to shoot down just about any craft bigger'n a good-sized pigeon."

"_Thank_ you, professah," Beachhead sighed. He glared in the approximate direction of the Cobra base. "We'll have to find some way to shut this down before it's operational. And according to the data Mainframe pulled, they already have a prototype hooked to the computer and ready to deploy."

Roadblock, Lifeline, and Lift Ticket gave thee subtle variations on "Erm."

Beachhead turned to them. "Yeh have somethin' to add, gentlemen?"

"Right," Beachhead said to Lift Ticket, after a very hasty war council held just outside of the Tomahawk. "Roadblock and I will take out that laser. You go warm this baby up. We won't have a big window to get outta here after we take that thing out!"

Roadblock stepped back out of the Tomahawk. Additional grenades dangled from his belt, and he carried a distinctive gun on a sling. Lift Ticket raised an eyebrow. "Is that a Bren gun?"

"Old Reliable, she is," Roadblock said with a broad grin, hefting it. He and Beachhead nodded at each other, then ran back into the woods.

Lift Ticket shook his head and walked back into the Tomahawk. Mainframe was talking and gesturing with great excitement. "And the encryption! Rank amateurs. I slipped _right_ in there, smoother than good Jamaican rum..." Lifeline, still wearing the Viper jacket and looking quite bedraggled, looked up at Lift Ticket beseechingly.

"Strap in!" Lift Ticket sang, walking into the cockpit. "Get up here, Lifeline! I'm takin' off as soon as those two set foot inside." He started the engines, and the rotors slowly purred up to the steady, thrumming whup-whup that Lift Ticket found so soothing.

Lifeline ducked into the cockpit and strapped into the co-pilot's seat. "Hey," he said, almost too quietly to be heard over the engines, "thank you for saving me."

Lift Ticket swallowed and shifted. "Well, I figgered it was kinda my fault that you got captured and all, so I..."

"No," Lifeline interrupted. He jerked his head in the direction of the passenger compartment. "From _that_."

"Oh. Yeah." Lift Ticket heard an explosion in the distance, and watched smoke rise from the trees. "Any time."

------

Lift Ticket stood at attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Roadblock was similarly at attention, looking as professionally deferential as Lift Ticket hoped he did. He wasn't exactly enjoying his chewing-out, but he could hardly argue that he didn't deserve one.

"Unprofessional, impulsive, utterly thoughtless." Duke hit the desk with the palm of his hand. "Utterly unworthy of Joes, and I never, _ever_ want to hear of you doing anything vaguely like that again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yessir!" Lift Ticket said, hearing the same thing from his right from Roadblock.

"Right. Now that that's done..." Duke stood and walked in front of his desk. "I can't deny that it turned out rather well. You got the information needed to stop Cobra's project in its tracks, and acted on it. For that, well done. But if you ever horse around like that again - you'd better bring me back Serpentor's head on a platter, or not come back at all."

"Yessir," they both repeated.

"Good. Dismissed." Lift Ticket thought he saw Duke wink, but - no. He left the room with Roadblock, and puffed out a deep breath as they closed the door behind them and headed down the corridor.

"Eh. Can't say as I enjoyed that one much," he muttered. "Bitched out after one of my first major assignments here."

Roadblock threw back his head and laughed, a hearty sound that bounced far down the corridor. He slapped Lift Ticket on the back. "Trust me, man. That wasn't bad." He shook his head. "I think he likes you." He chuckled all of the way to the rec room.


	8. Evolution, part 1

A/N: This takes place after the episode Million Dollar Medic. It also addresses a comment made in Second Hand Emotions.

------

"I'd expect no less from a guy like you. You'd throw yourself on a chunk of asphalt in the middle of the jungle to save your comrades from it, wouldn't you?" Lifeline murmured, pulling small chunks of gravel out of Lift Ticket's shoulder.

"Just shaddup and do yer job," Lift Ticket growled. He had ridden motorcycles in a T-shirt hundreds of times before. For the first time, he had fallen, and it had to be when he had the peanut gallery to fix it up, didn't it?

"I could always get someone else to do it, if you don't like my company," Lifeline replied.

Lift Ticket grunted. He had to admit that Lifeline had a touch. He'd fallen once when bicycling, back home in Oklahoma, and rashed up his leg. The doctor had poked and prodded him like a side of beef, scrubbing at his rash with a scouring pad while his unwilling patient had cussed him out. Lifeline ghosted his hand over skin, pulling out chunks so quickly and smoothly that Lift Ticket could barely feel it. "Nah, just finish up."

Lifeline smiled, stepping back to look critically at the shoulder before rinsing it and diving back in with tweezers. The tray next to him was full of gravelly crud, the blood congealing with it to make some vile variant on concrete. "You're current on tetanus, aren't you?"

"Yeah - you did it."

Lift Ticket turned his head to look as footsteps announced the arrival of a third person. From his crewcut to his pleated trousers, he was every bit the stereotypical Marine - broad-shouldered, square-jawed, straight-spined, in a dress uniform whose cleanliness seemed to mock his surroundings. "I'm looking for someone called Lifeline."

"Yo," Lifeline said, his attention still on his work.

"I'm Jim. Jim Trimball. Remember the name. You know a girl named Bree?"

"Yes, I've had the pleasure," Lifeline said.

"You have?" Lift Ticket muttered under his breath. Lifeline jabbed him in the side with the tweezers.

"Well," the man squared his shoulders, "I want you to _stay_ away from her, you hear? She's mine, and no other man is going to come within ten feet of her or I'll give him something to think about."

"You've got it," Lifeline said, blandly.

The man seemed disconcerted. "Erm, right. Well. Just as long as we're clear." He turned on the toe of a spit-polished boot and strode out of the room.

"Ya took that well," Lift Ticket observed.

Lifeline shrugged. "Should I be disappointed?"

Lift Ticket chuckled. "Nah. I think she will, though, when she finds she doesn't get the ego-stroking rivalry she wanted." Lift Ticket had envied Lifeline for getting a rich girl at first, but that feeling hadn't lasted a week. She was one spoiled and manipulative little minx.

"Are you incapable of saying anything good about anyone?" Lifeline asked, shaking his head as he cleaned the rash, patted it dry, and swabbed the oozing skin with iodine.

"Are _you_ incapable of sayin' anything mean?" Lift Ticket snorted.

Lifeline started to cut a bandage. "Fine - your romantic advice stinks."

"Romance?" Lift Ticket snorted. "What do you want _that_ for? Have fun, don't stay too long; it's a helluva lot more fun and a helluva lot less complicated." Not that it was easy meeting girls around the base, Lift Ticket mused. He hadn't missed much about his hometown, but he'd missed the girls; bright, beaming Oklahoma girls in sundresses, their hair in ponytails. He was quite the looker back home, with his build and his lopsided grin, some of them had told him breathlessly; his daddy had an old Thunderbird that he'd loan Victor for dates, and it had a big backseat...

Lift Ticket snapped out of his reverie as Lifeline tore off a strip of tape, frowning. "That's disgusting."

"Spare me yer holier-than-thou Northwest morality," Lift Ticket replied. Seattle girls probably wrapped themselves in layers of fleece up to the neck, he thought. No wonder Lifeline had such an odd attitude towards females.

"Take this off before bed and wash thoroughly," Lifeline said, flatly, as he finished taping down the bandage. "You don't want it getting infected. Give me a shout if it gets red or inflamed or leaks pus. And try to evolve."

Lift Ticket's retort was interrupted by Flint. "Lift Ticket!" he said sticking his head in. "I've been looking all over for you. Come with me."

Lift Ticket pulled his shirt on, stiffly, and followed Flint, leaving Lifeline to clean up in stony silence.

"You're going to be taking Lady Jaye on her next mission," Flint said as Lift Ticket fell into step next to him. "Leave as soon as you can. I wanted to give you a little advance warning, but I couldn't _find_ you." Lift Ticket bristled at the implied rebuke. "For now, head out to the hanger. Lady Jaye will brief you; the mission details are need-to-know. And," Flint's voice became much quieter, "keep an eye on her."

"Yessir," Lift Ticket muttered, breaking away to head for his room and collect his gear. At least he no longer got lost trying to get there, he reflected.

------  
It was odd to have a lady in the co-pilot's seat, but Lady Jaye could get him used to the idea, he decided. She was terse and businesslike on takeoff, then a witty conversationalist once they got to the dull ground-eating portion of the flight. She was full of stories about college and past missions that Lift Ticket was unsure he believed, but they were good stories anyway.

"You think I'm making that up!" she accused, midway into a tale of streaking a cake into English House for a friend's birthday.

Lift Ticket shrugged. "It's just hard to believe yeh spent half yer college time nekkid."

"You obviously haven't been to Bryn Mawr." She looked out at the water skimming below; the lower they flew, the less the chances of anyone seeing them, and Lift Ticket could fly very low, indeed. "Are we getting close?"

"Maybe five or ten minutes."

"Right." She unstrapped herself and headed into the passenger compartment, emerging with a double armful of cloth. "We're going to be infiltrating a small Cobra outpost dressed as Vipers, and picking up some information. It should be pretty straightforward, but you'll understand that we wanted to keep this fairly hush-hush."

Lady Jaye put on her disguise as Lift Ticket was landing the Tomahawk behind a copse. Lift Ticket shut the engines off and headed to the passenger compartment, where Lady Jaye had turned into an appropriately ominous Cobra pilot. She was holding the other uniform in her hands. Lift Ticket practically swallowed his tongue when he realized that she expected him to change right in front of her. "Could ya turn yer back, ma'am?"

"Oh, for crying..." She dropped the uniform and stepped out of the helicopter to wait, impatiently. "Hurry up!"

The Viper uniform did not go on easily, and even after he had it on, Lady Jaye had to tug and wrench at it here and there to get it to hang right. Lift Ticket felt like a five-year-old getting dressed up by his mom. Finally, however, she declared him fit to be seen in public, and the two of them marched over untended grass and through twisted brambles, towards the outpost.


	9. Evolution, part 2

Lift Ticket felt icy sweat trickle down his back as they passed the first guard shack and found themselves in the middle of a base full of snakes. They were everywhere - running purposefully from place to place, standing about lazily, chatting, fondling their weapons meaningfully - and the panicky feeling grew in him that they all just _knew _who he was, and were playing with him like a cat batting around a mouse, letting him get in deeper so he would have more room to run around fruitlessly when they finally called him on his disguise. 

He felt something on his arm, and almost jumped out of his skin. He jerked his head over to see that it was just Lady Jaye, her fingertips sitting gently on his forearm, her face unreadable behind her goggles. "It's all right," she hissed. "They don't know."

He took a deep breath and tried to loosen his stride and saunter like he belonged on a Cobra base. Months passed, he felt, as they crossed about fifty yards of open area and entered the biggest building on the compound, a squat windowless structure that looked a little like his old grade school. The corridor inside was clean and well-lit, with doors leading off to either side; Lift Ticket hung back slightly, letting Lady Jaye take the lead. He was not normally one for following, but he was completely out of his element.

Just before they reached a bend in the corridor, Lady Jaye grabbed his arm and pulled him to the inside wall. He glanced at her, confused, and she nodded at the Viper across the hall; he was standing at attention with his fist on his chest, looking at something around the bend. Lady Jaye assumed a similar posture, fist to chest, and Lift Ticket belatedly aped her.

A harsh voice drifted around the corner, followed by Cobra Commander; the Baroness and two Crimson Guards followed behind. He nodded at the Viper across the hall, not interrupting his diatribe. Having come in halfway through it, Lift Ticket had no idea what it was about - but whatever it was, Cobra Commander clearly felt very strongly in the negative. He paused both his rant and his walk in front of Lift Ticket and Lady Jaye, however, looking at them searchingly. _He knows!_ Lift Ticket thought, tensing for desperate action, trying to read an expression in that featureless mask.

"_Women_ pilots," Cobra Commander grated, staring at Lady Jaye's obviously female form and shaking his head. "What is Cobra coming to?" He turned and continued to walk, saying absently, "Now, where _was_ I?"

The Baroness glared at his back, then turned to Lift Ticket, her mouth curving into a smile as she arched her eyebrows. "Aren't _you_ the buff one," she purred, stroking his shoulders. "So many of the Vipers get fat and lazy on the milkruns. Why don't you come by later..."

"Baroness!" Cobra Commander shrieked from down the hallway. "Is this a troop inspection or a speed-dating service?"

"Feh," the Baroness grumbled. "He knows nothing about how to mix work and pleasure." She winked at Lift Ticket and walked down the hall, her hips swinging invitingly.

"Well," Lady Jaye whispered, "so much for nobody important being here. Would you like to come with me while I finish this up, or would you like to run along and take her up on that?"

"Not a word of that to anyone back at the base," Lift Ticket growled, falling in behind her. "Not a damn word."

"I wouldn't _dream_ of telling anyone about this," she deadpanned, as they continued their walk down the corridor. "I'm sure you'll think of a suitable bribe, after all."

Lady Jaye stopped in front of a door after a few yards. The other doors on the corridor had been fairly standard, with a window in the top and a handle on the outside. The one they stopped in front of was stark grey, featureless and handle-less. "How do we get into _this_?" Lift Ticket asked.

"With a little help from our friends," Lady Jaye replied, fishing in her belt pouch. She pulled out a card with a thick chunk of metal on top. She slid the card into a slot next to the door, and LEDs on the metal started to flash in staccato bursts of red. After a moment, they went out, and another LED glowed green. Lady Jaye pressed a button on the slot, and the door started to open. She pulled out the card. "A little gift from Mainframe."

The door took a long time to open. It was as thick across as Lift Ticket could reach with one arm. "Whut the _hell _is that protectin'?" he asked, impressed.

"What we're here for," she replied. "Information on Cobra's biological weapons. Nasty stuff, we're sure. But Cobra never designs a bioweapon without a cure - they want to survive a strike, after all! So if we steal the information on their cures, we negate the weapons." She ducked into the room, and Lift Ticket followed. The room inside was well-lit; the walls seemed made of banks of humming computers. She sat at one and started to type. "Keep an eye out."

Lift Ticket stood in the middle of the room with his arms folded, watching the corridor. A few Cobras passed by and gave the open door a look, but they kept walking when they saw him. The rattling tappity of Lady Jaye's fingers on the keyboard was hypnotizing, and Lift Ticket shook himself as he realized that his mind was drifting. He walked over to look over her shoulder as she stopped typing and sat back, flexing her fingers. "How's it comin'?"

She popped a diskette out of the drive and slid it into her pouch. "Got it. Let's get out of here."

"What are you doing here?" a voice asked behind them. They both turned to see a slightly built Cobra trooper standing in the doorway, gun leveled at them.

"Just inputting some data," Lady Jaye replied in a deep voice as she stood. "On the request of _Cobra Commander_. Put that away."

"What's your clearance code?" the Viper asked, not moving.

"Why should we give it ta you?" Lift Ticket growled. "Move it, buddy, before we get upset. We _work_ for a livin'."

The Viper raised the weapon slightly. "I've never heard of a Viper having clearance for these computers. They're for the techs. And Mindbender said specifically that Cobra Commander was not to have access to the bioweapons database. Take off your helmets; I want to see you."

Lift Ticket frowned, trying to gauge possibilities. The Viper was too far away to jump outright; he'd get shot down before he reached the pilot. On the other hand, his momentum would keep him moving, and maybe Lady Jaye would escape. But no - a shot would alert the rest of the base. Still...

"Whatever you're thinking," Lady Jaye murmured as she pulled her helmet off, "don't." Lift Ticket sighed and pulled off his own helmet.

The Viper turned his head slightly towards Lift Ticket, cocking it as if staring. After a few moments, he said, "I know you. You're a Joe." Lift Ticket tensed, readying himself to jump, but the Viper's trigger finger did not move. "You pulled me out of the drink in the Caribbean."

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Lift Ticket replied. "I thought ya looked familiar. Hey, one good turn deserves another, what?"

The Viper chuckled. "Do you think I would just _let you go_?"

Lift Ticket shrugged. "Hey. Ya finished your mission and got home safe. We're just skulkin' around, here. We didn't hurt nobody." He took a guess at Cobra's treatment of its rank and file. "Do ya really think you'll get some kinda reward for turnin' us in? You'll be flyin' the same missions next week whether ya let us go or not."

"You're right, but they'll bust me down to garbage runs if they find out I let two Joes walk right out." The Viper lowered the rifle and stepped farther inside, placing his hand over a red button on the wall. "You have one minute before I sound general quarters. That's my job taken care of, and if you get out of this, you'd better remember that I helped you."

"Hey," Lady Jaye started to say, gratefully.

"Fifty-five seconds," the Viper barked. Lady Jaye and Lift Ticket slammed their helmets on their heads and left, walking with ground-eating strides.

They were just a few steps from the door when a klaxon started to hoot. They both started to sprint. "That warn't a minute!" Lift Ticket yelled.

"Do you want to go back and argue?" Lady Jaye asked, leaping through the closing door. Lift Ticket stumbled through it after her.

The yard was full of activity; guards ran purposefully to stations, weapons at the ready. The two Joes very much stood out as the only two in a hurry to leave. "Halt!" yelled the guard at the gate; he and his companion leveled their weapons. Lady Jaye paused, spun on her toe, and delivered a roundhouse kick to one. Lift Ticket did not slow down; he crouched, caught the other guard in a bear hug, and let the Cobra fall heavily to the ground as he ran on.

Shots followed them into the brambles outside of the base, but the guards were not organized enough to send anyone to give chase. They arrived back at the Tomahawk without incident, and Lift Ticket fired it up immediately. He puffed and blew as he lifted off.

"You haven't been training sprints, have you?" Lady Jaye asked, critically, as she removed her helmet and gloves. "Distance running shouldn't be all of it."

"Thanks for the constructive commentary, ma'am," Lift Ticket muttered, turning the Tomahawk towards base. "I'll work on..." he trailed off as the proximity alert sounded. "Crap."

Lady Jaye looked out on her side. "Night Ravens!"

"Great," Lift Ticket muttered. He started to bob and weave, just before the air started to crackle with gunfire. He turned one zig into a pirouette, and got a good look at three black planes streaking towards him. He fired a missile at the center one, then plunged as the other two recovered from their surprise and got off a few wild shots. He kept in the dive as he watched the first plane crash to the ground, noting that one of the two Ravens was following. He pulled up almost close enough to touch grass; the Raven tried to imitate, but its belly scraped the ground, and it shuddered and plowed a huge furrow in the earth as it, too, crashed.

The last Raven spat more rounds at him, and the Tomahawk quaked as one of them hit. Lift Ticket said a word that made Lady Jaye arch an eyebrow. He leveled out, turned, and blanketed the Raven with fire with a complete absence of finesse. A shot hit the plane's wing, and it disengaged, stumbling smokily back to the base.

"How are we doing?" Lady Jaye asked.

"We got hit." Lift Ticket scanned the board. "Looks like we're losing fuel. Probably won't make it back to base. Any other options?"

Lady Jaye picked up her headphone set and radioed the base. "USS Winthrop," she replied, finally. "They're about 120 miles north-northeast. Can you make it?"

"I'll make it, but you might have to get out and push!" Lift Ticket looked at the fuel gauge with a critical eye.

------

He had been pessimistic about their fuel loss - always safest, he figured - and made it to the carrier with fuel to spare. "Hardly even excitin'," he commented, as they unstrapped themselves from the seats.

Lady Jaye stretched with catlike grace. "Don't take me out for any 'exciting' nights on the town, if that's the case." They both stepped out of the helicopter, greeting the three sailors who were waiting for them.

"You look beat," a sailor with a sandy-blond crewcut said. "C'mon and have a bite. Commander Garmen's in the mess, and he'll be wanting to talk to you anyway."

"Thank you!" Lady Jaye replied, with a winning smile. "I'd love to." She turned to Lift Ticket.

Socializing with brass was not his idea of a good time. "I got a helicopter to fix. Y'all got some tools?"

The sailors escorted Lady Jaye away, and Lift Ticket turned to the Tomahawk. "You deserve better, darlin'," he muttered, patting it on a charred body panel. He told his rumbling stomach to hold off a while as he leaned against the helicopter and waited for the tools, trying to tug discreetly at the too-tight bits of his Viper uniform.


	10. Sisters

Lift Ticket had not spoken to Lifeline in over a week. They had met in the hallway or the mess from time to time, but they had not been assigned any missions together, and neither had sought the other out. It began to feel distinctly odd. Lifeline was about as different from Lift Ticket's standard friends as one could get and still be in the same line of work, but nonetheless, Lift Ticket had begun to rather enjoy prodding him for a reaction, and being prodded in return. The word 'apology' had floated through Lift Ticket's mind a few times, but it had not found anything to latch onto that he particularly wanted to apologize for when it did, and so it tended to drift right back out again. 

Then, on a particularly dull Tuesday, a package arrived. Lift Ticket unwrapped it and read the card with a grin. After thinking for a moment, he took the contents off to Lifeline's room, pausing at the Coke machine on the way.

He knocked. "Who is it?" drifted through the door.

Lift Ticket walked in. Lifeline looked up from the book he was reading as he sat in bed, his legs crossed. "Does 'who is it' mean 'come right in' where you come from?"

"Hell, everything but 'get the hell outta here' means 'come right in' where I come from," Lift Ticket replied, dragging a chair up to the bed and sitting on it, half-sprawled.

Lifeline put a mark in the book and set it aside, looking at Lift Ticket with exaggerated attention. "Yes? How may I help you?"

"Maybe ya can help me with this," Lift Ticket replied, waggling the small bottle of rum. "My sister sent it. I should mention to her that ya really shouldn't send somethin' called Mount Gay to a base fulla men, but she said on the card that it's good stuff."

"What's the occasion?" Lifeline asked.

"It's Tuesday and there's squat goin' on, and that's occasion enough for me." He set it on the ground and started to scrounge for glasses.

"In the foot locker. I didn't know you had a sister," Lifeline said, sitting up with some interest.

"Yeah, I got a sister and some brothers." Lift Ticket found some cups in the foot locker, and pulled out two. "Hated her when we were little. She was younger and used to beat me up all time. Then I hit my growth spurt. It's funny," he reflected, pouring rum and a dash of Coke into two cups, "the more time I spend away from home, the more I like her. I think the feelin's mutual." Pure Southern charm, she was, these days, with her long black hair and sparkling dark eyes.

Lifeline nodded, looking at the cup contents dubiously. "That happens." He tried a sip. "That _is _good."

Lift Ticket was in the middle of coming to the same conclusion. "Yep." He sighed and leaned back. "You gotta sister?"

Lifeline let out a bark of unamused laughter. "Yes. The only one in the family that talks to me. The rest haven't said so much as a word in years."

"Yer kiddin'." Lift Ticket frowned. He couldn't imagine anyone being a more saccharine-sweet example of a model son than Lifeline.

Lifeline shook his head. "Nope. My family doesn't... approve of my current occupation."

"Well, I can sorta see that." Lift Ticket leaned back, finishing off his cup. "I mean, I still don't get why a confirmed pacifist like you is doin' with us."

Lifeline leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "They're great people, my family, they really are, and the feel strongly - more strongly than me, I think." He sighed, rubbing his ear. "But it's like they spend all of their time preaching to the converted. I thought that it might do more if I went to where the... well, not where the enemy was, but... you know." Lift Ticket nodded. Lifeline had some loopy ideas, but he had to admit that the fellow stuck with them. "Sometimes, though," Lifeline continued, "I wonder if it's doing any good at all, here. My dad's a preacher, and people at home said I had his knack for convincing, but I don't think I do."

Lift Ticket shifted, thinking about the Viper who let him and Lady Jaye go. "Eh. I wouldn't jump to conclusions." He refilled his cup, then refilled Lifeline's as the man held it out. "But yer sister believes in ya, yeah?"

Lifeline smiled, his eyes unfocusing a little. "Yeah. She's terrific."

"She look like you?" Lift Ticket prompted.

"Nah. She's gorgeous." Lifeline frowned and started to dig through a pile of mail on his nightstand, sticking the cup between his legs to free his hands. "And that's the problem, isn't it..." he muttered. Lift Ticket took another drink, watching. "Look." Lifeline pulled out a piece of heavy card stock and handed it over.

It was a fairly standard wedding invitation, printed with black calligraphy on a white background, with plenty of curlicues. "Yeah?" Lift Ticket asked, wondering what he was supposed to get out of it. All he got was that the bride's name was Steen.

"She's getting married."

"And you don't like the fellah?" Lift Ticket asked, handing the card back.

Lifeline shrugged, tossing the invite back on the nightstand. "He's a good guy; he seems nice enough, has a good job, all that. Still..." he trailed off.

"Ed, man, I'm guessing that _no_ fellah is going to be good enough for your sister." Lift Ticket grinned.

Lifeline frowned. "Hey, now, how would you feel if some guy asked to marry your..."

"I'd kill 'im," Lift Ticket interrupted, with sincerity. Lifeline arched an eyebrow. "Well, not really," Lift Ticket continued, "but my first reaction? Yeah. I know where you're coming from. But if you can't trust her judgment..."

"Right." Lifeline didn't look convinced. "Hey, the wedding's in a few months. Do you want to come along? I invited Roadblock, and Shipwreck overheard, so I had to ask him along, too."

Lift Ticket chuckled. "If I'm not otherwise occupied by th' powers that be. I think you're gonna need more support than the groom." Lifeline looked down, smiling shyly. Lift Ticket frowned. That might have been the first shy thing he had seen Lifeline do. He cleared his throat. "To sisters," he said, raising his cup.

"To sisters," Lifeline echoed, lifting his, and added, "and their bonehead brothers."

Yep, Lift Ticket thought as he poured another for both of them, sisters were something. Near-psychic, sometimes - with that card she had sent, saying _In case you need an icebreaker._ Well, whatever secret she had, Lift Ticket wasn't going to question it. He was just going to be glad it worked for him, now and then.


	11. War Game

"Hup hup hup!" 

Lift Ticket stretched his legs out to make longer strides. He had plenty of time, as he ran, to regret so casually agreeing to Beachhead's offhand suggestion of "a little exercise." It had turned out to be, thus far, a ten-mile combination jog and scramble across rutted paths and over rocks, in full uniform, with a full pack. Lift Ticket liked to think he was in good shape, but there was no way he could have yelled as Beachhead was doing at this point. He'd be lucky to get a hoarse word out, actually.

Lift Ticket was consoled by the fact that he had company in his misery - everyone who had been sitting in the rec room when Beachhead stuck his head in. Mainframe sweated profusely to his left. Scarlett jogged in front of him, and Lift Ticket was not sure he would have gotten as far as he did if he had not had her rear bobbing hypnotizingly in front of him. He knew that Roadblock and Shipwreck were running behind him, and the thought of being trampled by those two if he faltered was equally motivating. He caught flashes of red to his right, and knew that Lifeline was keeping up. He was the only one of the group not carrying a weapon, but he had a medical bag in addition to his backpack; it looked just as heavy as the rifle Lift Ticket was holding, and perhaps even more ungainly.

Beachhead waved them through a gap in a huge pile of rock, then pelted in front of them. Lift Ticket wiped his forehead. He was enjoying the unusual silence, as none of his fellow runners had the breath to say a word, but he was getting very light-headed.

"Halt!"

Lift Ticket stumbled to a stop, breathing heavily. He was glad to see that everyone else was in various stages of exhausted panting. Gaping like a bunch of goldfish, he decided - well, except for Beachhead.

That person, looking only slightly winded, stood in front of them, legs spread. "We're gonna have to work on yer fitness, soldiers!" he barked. "Yeh shouldn't be gaspin' like a buncha accordions after a quick little run like that!" He waited for a chorus of wheezy 'Yes sir's before continuing. "We're goin' to play a little war game, now. Y'all had better hope that your strategizin' is better than your runnin'!"

Lift Ticket, feeling better now that he had a few lungfuls of air in him, straightened. War games, eh? That sounded like fun.

"You three," Beachhead said, tossing a red scarf at one side, where Lift Ticket, Lifeline, and Scarlett stood, "will be against you three. Capture-the-flag." He tossed a blue scarf to the other side, where Roadblock, Shipwreck, and Mainframe stood. "I'll give you half an hour to set up and make yer strategy, then it's go get 'em time!" He looked at his watch. "Oh-seven-twenty now; game starts at oh-seven-fifty, and whoever wins drags the losers back here. Hurry up! I don't wanna be here all day!"

Lift Ticket cast a curious glance at the other two members of his team. Lifeline was unlikely to be of much use. Well, of any use at all. Scarlett, however, took immediate action, turning and jogging off into the brush to the left. Lift Ticket and Lifeline followed.

As soon as they were out of hearing range of the other side, Scarlett muttered to the other two, "There's a bluff off in this direction. I thought we stood a good chance of finding a decent cave to hunker in while we hash out our plans."

"Good thought," Lift Ticket replied.

There was indeed a choice of small caves, once they had scratched themselves thoroughly on brambles. They sat in a small, huddled circle inside of one. The floor was reddish dirt, with scrubby brambles making a desperate attempt to grow in it; darker walls arching above to a craggy roof close enough over their heads to bump a man of reasonable height who stood quickly. "Right, what now?" Scarlett asked, pulling out a twig.

Lifeline found another twig and started to sketch a rough diagram of the surroundings on the dirt. "The bluff ends rather abruptly in the direction the others headed. Our best bet is probably to use the terrain to our advantage and do a little reconnaissance." He sketched rapidly in the dirt. "We can sneak to the edge overlooking their area without being seen, if we stay low. I would guess that their strategy is going to be..." Lifeline paused at the looks he was getting. "What?"

"Lifeline, when we were trying to ambush that Cobra camp last week and asked if yeh had any ideas, yeh shrugged and spread yer hands."

"Yes, but you were planning violence. This is just a game."

Lift Ticket noted that Scarlett's expression was a good mirror of the frustration he felt.

They sequestered their flag in an even smaller and more bramble-ridden cave - more of a depression in the rock - then took Lifeline's advice and climbed to the top of the bluff, then shimmied across on their stomachs. The bluff was not high, but it was steep enough to afford a good view of the area.

"There," Scarlett hissed, pointing. Undergrowth moved in two spots, one bigger than the other, tracing a trail. The two spots converged to make one large area of activity.

"There's a little depression in the ground over there." Lifeline pointed. "We could probably sneak right up behind them, if we cut a good way to the east before looping back."

"Which way is east?" Lift Ticket asked, squinting at the clouds and trying to find the sun's glow.

"That way," said Lifeline and Scarlett in unison, pointing in opposite directions.

Once that was straightened out, the trio scuttled backwards until they were well away from the lip of the bluff. They then stood and began to walk down the other side, picking their way through scraggly copses.

"How 'bout you and I go git 'em, and Scarlett looks after the flag?" Lift Ticket asked.

"Scarlett's the fastest of us," Lifeline objected.

"Actually, Lifeline and I are both faster than you," Scarlett interjected. "Why don't _you_ guard the flag, and he and I..."

Lift Ticket did not let her finish. "You must be kiddin'. No way am I gonna sit on my duff while you two..." He did not get far in his rant, however, before stumbling to a halt, verbally and physically. Lifeline and Scarlett did, as well. The clear signs of a very rough camp stood in front of them. A circle of rocks surrounded a cold fire pit, and rucksacks sat in a haphazard circle around it.

Scarlett poked one of the sacks with her toe. "Campers?" She knelt and started to unfasten the buckles on it.

"Maybe it's part of the game," Lift Ticket said. "Yeh know, Beachhead and a few of the other higher rank muckymucks pretendin' to be Cobras or the like, and leavin'..." Lifeline put one arm over his shoulders and one hand over his mouth. He glared and bit Lifeline's hand, but then heard what the other man must have - the _crunch crunch_ of footsteps. Scarlett heard it, too; she froze, her head cocked.

Zartan walked into the clearing, whistling and fastening his fly. He froze when he saw the trio in the clearing, and for roughly one second, the four stared at each other, forming an odd tableaux.

Lift Ticket thawed first; he saw the potential for mayhem and liked it. He tackled Zartan with a roar; the other man, taken by surprise, went down with a whump of displaced air. But he did not stay frozen for long; he started to scrabble at Lift Ticket's hands and twisted his leg to try to pin Lift Ticket's. They wrestled on the ground, rolling and getting twigs in all kinds of uncomfortable places.

Zartan suddenly went limp. Lift Ticket raised himself up with a yell, ready to punch Zartan's lights out - and the yell caught in his throat as a rifle tapped his temple. A blue-clad Cobra stood behind it.

Lift Ticket stood, slowly, and stepped back with his arms half-raised. The Cobra kept his rife steady. Two steps saw Lift Ticket standing next to Lifeline and Scarlett, facing a circle of well-armed Cobras. "Oh, hell," he muttered.

"Pithy," Lifeline replied.

Zartan stood, brushing ochre-orange dirt and dry twigs off of himself. "Well, well," he said, his voice condescendingly threatening. "What have we here? I was waiting for a few Joes to leave the base, but I wasn't expecting them to walk right into my camp. How _considerate_ of you!"

Two Cobras covered the trio with their rifles while the other three snapped handcuffs on them and kicked their legs out from under them, leaving them sitting in an ignoble pile. At a word from Zartan, two of the three started to remove Lift Ticket's uniform. He was not pleased with this development. He kicked and yelled until one of the two covering him tapped him gently on the small of the back with his rifle butt, and he quieted down somewhat. "I'm not that type of boy," he muttered, wishing for a chiropractor.

"Sorry," Zartan said, sounding anything but sorry, "but I think yours is the only one that will fit." He put on the uniform, then settled down with a small makeup kit that he pulled out of the bag.

"I don't look a thing like that," Lift Ticket muttered when he viewed the result. "He looks like my Aunt Belle." Lifeline commented that it looked exactly like him, which he did not need to hear.

Zartan walked off, leaving the five guards to sit and watch the three Joes. Lift Ticket tried to pull his hands out of the handcuffs, but they were securely fastened, and he only succeeded in scraping his wrists and jerking around on the ground. Scarlett, hearing the commotion, flopped her head on Lifeline's lap to get a good view of where Lift Ticket was scuffling around in his underwear.

"Shall I switch with you?" Lifeline asked.

"No, I'm rather liking this seat," she replied with a smile.

"Do either of you have any _good_ ideas?" Lift Ticket growled, feeling himself blush.

"Plenty, but none that relate to our situation," Lifeline replied.

"I could pick the cuffs with one of my hairpins," Scarlett said, very quietly, "but we'll have to figure out a way to get the guards' attention off of us, first."

"The other Joes should still be looking for us as part of that game," Lifeline replied, equally quietly. "If we could signal to them..."

Lift Ticket sat up, turning his head to join in the quiet conversation. "You know, I've been chattin' with Roadblock in my spare time. We came up with this signal system that we thought we might use some time when we're close but can't see each other, like when we were on that island base. The signal for danger is hootin' like an owl."

"Well, do it, then!" Scarlett hissed.

Lift Ticket hooted. "Well, they'll know that's a signal," Lifeline muttered. "They'd never mistake it for an actual owl."

One of the guards walked over and kicked Lifeline in the side. "Stop mucking around!" he growled. "Sit tight and shut up, or we'll shut you up." He walked back to where the other guards sat.

The leaves in the copse behind them rustled. Roadblock's unmistakable baritone sounded. "Hey, dudes! Great new look for you, Lift Ticket."

"Stop being a smartass and help us out, wouldja?"

"No problem," Roadblock replied. They heard another rustle that diminished with distance, and then three bodies jumped into the clearing from three sides with a loud yell of "Yo Joe!" The guards, startled, were no match for the newcomers, and were quickly (and none too gently) disarmed.

The six Joes used the guards' own cuffs on them, confiscated their satchels and rifles, and Roadblock set the startled, dirty, and rather sore guards to a quick march towards the rendezvous, calling out a cadence that was quite rapid and mildly obscene.

Beachhead startled was not something that Lift Ticket expected to see rather often, so he relished the quick leap to a standing position and the wide-eyed stare for just a moment. A moment was all he had, as Beachhead's eyes rapidly narrows and he stuck his hands on his hips. "What's all this?"

"Good enough wargaming for you?" Mainframe asked with a bright smile.

The story was told in about three different versions from six different throats, but Beachhead finally got the gist. He called back into base and warned them to take the disguised Zartan into custody when he tried to enter the base. "Right," he said, once that order of business was taken care of. "Before we march these fellows back, _you_," he pointed at Lifeline, "tell me what you were doing up there in the first place. I'm still not quite clear on that, yeah?"

"Well," Lifeline replied, in his usual quiet and unassuming manner, "I thought that we could get a good view of the other side from the top of the bluff, and scope out both their base and the terrain."

"It was a good idea," Beachhead replied, "except that all three of ya went up. Ya never can assume that the enemy that you know is there is the only one that's going to be there. Always keep a force in reserve; don't scout with all you got. Right?"

"Good point," Lifeline said, and then added with a slight smile, "but I don't really want to get _good_ at this."

Lift Ticket sighed and buried his face in his right palm.


End file.
